


and kiss you, and kiss you, and kiss you ('til monday)

by AceMoppet



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Fake Dating, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Making Out, Monster of the Week, Nonbinary Jaskier | Dandelion, Other, There's so much kissing here y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29795172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceMoppet/pseuds/AceMoppet
Summary: Geralt looks at them dead-on. “I’ll tell you the details later,” he says, “but basically, we’d have to go as lovers.”Or: Monster of the Week requires Geralt and Jaskier to pose as lovers at a banquet. Only, will they *really* be posing?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 116
Collections: GRB2020 Team Works





	and kiss you, and kiss you, and kiss you ('til monday)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DrowningByDegrees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/gifts).



> Hey y'all! I'm the Geraskier Reverse Bang pinch hitter for [ DrowningByDegrees ](https://drowningbydegrees.tumblr.com) , go check them out!
> 
> Title is from the song [ On Monday ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DuZbIlicjBs) . Nothing to do with Monday, but it does capture the vibe of the fic.

They’re just eating breakfast- eggs and ham! A far cry from the bread and jerky they usually scarf down while on the road- when the messenger arrives.

“You the witcher?”

Geralt looks up. “ _ A  _ witcher, yes,” he says, and Jaskier hides a snort into their eggs. “Why?”

The man grins. “Viscountess Alana is looking for you,” he says, dropping a parchment onto the table.

Geralt quickly looks it over- from across the table, Jaskier can just barely make out the outline of an official stamp- before turning back to the messenger. “Now.”

The man just keeps grinning, and gods but isn’t  _ that  _ unnerving. “Now would be nice.”

Geralt and Jaskier exchange a look before Geralt gets up. “Seems we don’t have much of a choice,” he rumbles. “Show us to the Viscountess then.”

_ Ah, my eggs,  _ Jaskier thinks sadly as Geralt and the messenger step out. Still, they restrict themself to one (1) forlorn sigh before packing up their belongings and joining Geralt and the messenger outside.

It seems the viscountess lives nearby- the town they were just dining in is under her jurisdiction, which is how she must have heard of their presence after they’d entered last night. 

“I thought you said there were no jobs in this town,” Jaskier murmurs, just low enough for Geralt to hear them.

“There weren’t,” Geralt replies, eyes still on the messenger merrily leading them. 

“Ah,” Jaskier says. “A nobility-specific problem then. Wonderful.”

“Hm.”

The two of them have shared many things over the years they’ve traveled together- food, drink, and on one memorable occasion, even clothes- and a healthy dislike of nobility is just another of those things. Nobles tend to give shit jobs with a smile and threaten to ruin Geralt’s reputation if he so much as talks back- even Jaskier’s hands are tied around them.

All in all, neither of them are looking forward to this job.

In the midst of their rumination (and Jaskier’s mental funeral to the hot breakfast they’ve left behind), they arrive at the Viscountess’ manor. Jaskier would go on to describe it, but honestly when you’ve seen them once, you’ve seen them all. It’s grand, it’s bland, and neither of them would like to be anywhere near where it stands.

Still, it’s not like they can turn this down- if not because of Geralt’s morals not letting him not take a job (and he  _ does  _ have them, the principled persnickety bastard), then because of the risk of being arrested by the lawmen this Viscountess Alana can no doubt influence.

“Onwards,” Jaskier whisper-shouts cheerily, trying to cover up the lack of enthusiasm on both of their parts. Geralt just rolls his eyes- rude!

They enter the manor and are quickly directed to a sitting room. “The Viscountess will be in shortly,” the messenger says, and gods but Jaskier is still hung up on his incessant smile.

“Don’t his cheeks hurt?” they say to Geralt after the man leaves the room. “I mean, really, the man’s got to stop at one point!”

Geralt side-eyes them. “Yeah,” he says, “You’d  _ think.” _

“Yeah and- wait.” Jaskier narrows their eyes. “What are you implying, Geralt?”

Geralt looks away, but not before Jaskier sees the curl of an amused smile on his lips- which, rude! Very rude! Before Jaskier can call out his unspeakable rudeness, however, the Viscountess enters the room.

“Witcher,” she says, nodding at Geralt. Then she notices Jaskier. “And bard. I hope I’ve not kept you waiting.”

Surprisingly she hasn’t. “Not at all, my Lady!” Jaskier says, laying on the charm. The Viscountess smiles, amused. Gods, what  _ is  _ it with people finding them amusing when they’re not trying to be?

In the midst of their irritation, Geralt takes over. “You said you had a problem,” he states- Jaskier knows it’s a question though. 

“Yes,” the lady says, gesturing for them to sit as she takes a seat as well. “As I said in my note, there’s been an alarming amount of disappearances from my parties recently…”

Jaskier tunes out the rest of the conversation- Geralt is more than adequate in social situations when he wants to be, and he tends to want to be on jobs. “Takes less time to deal with, and it’s less troublesome,” he says. Which, Jaskier can get behind that.

They take the opportunity to appreciate the room- it’s a very airy space, with tall windows that the morning sun spills through. The furniture is… decadent, for lack of a better word. While Jaskier appreciates the aesthetics, they’re less inclined to do so when they’ve gotten interrupted in the middle of their breakfast. The eggs and ham of nary an hour ago seem so far away, and Jaskier’s stomach cries out in longing- metaphorically of course. Ooh, but there’s an idea for a song…

Jaskier is pulled out of their splendid composition (it’s called “Ode to Warmth”, which is both pretentious enough for Oxenfurt and simple enough for tavern fare, so win-win all around) when Geralt says, “I’ll need to attend the banquet then.”

Geralt? Wanting to attend a banquet?? Ohohoho, this they’ve  _ got  _ to know more about.

The Viscountess nods. “I understand, but how will you lure the- what was it you called?”

“Bruxa.” Oh  _ shit.  _ No wonder the Viscountess is worried- bruxas are bad news.

“Right,” the Viscountess says. “How will you lure the bruxa? If they’re attending my parties as you say, they must be intelligent enough to understand that you’re a witcher.”

Ooooh, clever Viscountess! Jaskier takes a closer look at her- she’s beautiful, actually, with skin a smooth, red-brown ochre and eyes dark and twinkling with intelligence and- ok, so  _ maybe  _ Jaskier has a bit of a competency kink: they chalk that up as a product of imprinting on Geralt- who is, for all of their teasing, the most competent person in all the land- at the tender age of eighteen. 

Geralt, as if sensing their attraction, kicks their ankle surreptitiously. They kick back and nearly miss Geralt’s reply. “I can disguise myself,” he says. “Especially if Jaskier attends with me.”

Jaskier takes back every insult they’ve ever bestowed on this man. “Really?” they say, excited at the prospect of fine clothes, fine wine, and fine… company.

The Viscountess looks uncertain. “I’m not sure how that would disguise you,” she says. “Everyone knows that Jaskier the Bard is followed by Geralt of Rivia, and vice versa.”

Truly?! Oh, this day just keeps getting better and better- it’s almost enough to make Jaskier forget the tragedy of this morning’s uninterrupted breakfast! 

On a more serious note… “Yes, how do you plan to disguise yourself, Geralt?” Jaskier asks their friend. “We can… maybe do something about your hair? I have some Zerrikanian  _ henna  _ in my bag, but that’s not going to help you lure the bruxa in, is it?”

Geralt looks at them dead-on. “I’ll tell you the details later,” he says, “but basically, we’d have to go as lovers.”

_ L-lovers?! _

“Oh!” The Viscountess says, looking flustered. “I- I did not realize you two were-”

“We’re not,” Geralt says, even as Jaskier starts to finally process his words. “But from what you’ve told me, the bruxa is tending to pick off your guests when they go out with their partners for… fresh air. If we make them think Jaskier and I are going to do that, then they’ll follow us, and I can dispatch them safely.”

It’s… a sound plan, if a bit elaborate. “How will you excuse my presence there then?” Jaskier asks. It’s not like they can use their ex-title as a Kerackian Viscount here. 

Geralt turns to them then with a mean smile. “You still have that one doublet from Cintra, don’t you?” he says. “The one that made me look like-”

“‘A sad silk trader,’” Jaskier repeats. Then they freeze. “Geralt, but that’s not my color at  _ all!” _

“Tough,” Geralt says, still smiling at them. “You’ll go undercover as a merchant, and I’ll go in as your lover.”

On one hand, having to wear something bland. On the other hand, playing at a relationship with their best friend and secret love of at least a decade now. Truly, it’s a no brainer.

“It’s a good plan,” the Viscountess says. “The banquet is later tonight- I trust you’ll be ready by then?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll show you to your rooms- best of luck.”

* * *

By rooms, the Viscountess clearly meant one room. “Sorry,” the increasingly-smiley messenger says. “We’re short on rooms because of the banquet tonight- it’s a wonder we even have an empty one!”

And what a room it is! The walls are made of the finest timber, carved with elaborate curlicues that make Jaskier’s head spin. The fire is already on- which is nice, if unnecessary, given that it’s just hitting mid-morning now. But the main attraction is the bed.

Oh, now  _ this  _ is a bed worthy of praise. It’s soft and fluffy, like the clouds outside their balcony (yes, they have a balcony too). The bed is made from what looks like a richer wood- Geralt would know more, as Jaskier cares little for the knowledge of timber used in this area. To top it all off, there are  _ curtains.  _ For the  _ bed. _

First they’re going to a banquet, then they’re going as Geralt’s pretend lover, and now they get to stay in a room such as this? Can this day get  _ any  _ better?

“I’ll call some breakfast for you,” the smiley man says as he heads out of the room. ”The meal’s already done for the other guests, but the cooks should be able to serve some eggs and ham, at least.”

Jaskier gasps in delight. Best. Contract.  _ Ever. _

Behind them, they hear Geralt huff. They turn around to see him looking at them in familiar amusement and… fondness?

That’s odd, they think, before pushing that thought away. “Gods, what a day, Geralt!” they exclaim, falling back on the bed. “And it’s not even noon yet!”

Geralt hums. “Don’t fall asleep,” he says, shrugging off his armor and swords. “We still need to work out our plan.”

“Ah, right,” Jaskier says, sitting up. “Our plan to… I’m sorry, are we luring the bruxa in or seducing them into a  ménage à trois ?”

Geralt chuckles- success!- and shakes his head. “Only you, Jaskier,” he says, eyes glinting with mirth as he sits down beside them on the bed. “No, we’re luring them in. Which means we have to convincingly act like lovers.”

Once again, the word “lovers” makes Jaskier’s face go red. “A-ah,” they say. “R-right then.”

Geralt looks at them, amused. “Shying away, bard?” he teases. “What, are your acting skills no good?”

“My acting skills are terrific,  _ thank you very much,”  _ they reply automatically. “Still, it’s not everyday we get to pretend we’re… together.” That’s as close as they can get to the word “lovers” without blushing like a tomato again. “Which is why we should practice!”

... _ Shit. _

Geralt furrows his brows. “Practice?”

“Y-yeah,” they say. They can still salvage this, maybe by saying that they could practice dancing- “You know, like kissing and stuff!”  _ Fuck,  _ ok, never mind.

“‘And stuff?’” Geralt repeats, amused. “I see your reputation is over-inflated.”

“It is not!” Jaskier protests, indignant. “Take that back, you donkey’s arse!”

Geralt scoffs. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll make you!”

Geralt raises a cocky eyebrow, leaning in. “Yeah?” he says. “How?”

There’s a moment where the world stops, narrowing down to the spaces where they breathe and the way Geralt’s eyes seem glued to Jaskier’s mouth. Then Geralt’s lips are on theirs, and Jaskier's head  _ spins. _

They clutch at Geralt’s arms, trying hard not to fall over as he kisses them, slow and gentle. It’s soft and wet and so  _ fucking  _ good that Jaskier feels their brain melting out of their ears.

_ Control yourself,  _ Jaskier thinks wildly, scrabbling for sense as they try to keep their reactions bottled. Then Geralt pushes his tongue into their mouth and Jaskier  _ groans. _

“Fuck,” they pant when Geralt finally pulls back. There’s a line of spit connecting their lips, and Jaskier goes cross-eyed trying to follow it before Geralt brings up a finger to break it.

“Speechless, bard?” he teases, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, and oh that’s not fucking  _ fair. _

“Y-you wish,” Jaskier says, trying to catch their breath. They try to come up with a witty line, but upon finding nothing, they say  _ fuck it _ and yank Geralt back in for another kiss.

This time, they’re the one pushing their tongue into Geralt’s mouth, swallowing Geralt’s surprised groan with glee. They bring their hands up, originally to pull on Geralt’s hair just for being a bastard, but then Geralt’s hand is on the back of their neck, thumb rubbing soft circles over the first bone on their spine, and they change course to cradle Geralt’s face instead.

The kiss turns soft, softer than Jaskier ever thought possible. Time melts away as Geralt pulls them into his lap, hands tucking into the spaces at their waist. At one point, Jaskier breaks away for just a breath but dives immediately back in nip at Geralt’s jaw. The  _ sound  _ he makes is addictive, and Jaskier does it again, and again, and again until there are faint lovebites across his entire jawline.

“You know, Geralt,” they murmur, whining when Geralt’s lips find their throat. “If we keep doing this, we’re not going to be pretending to be lovers at the banquet tonight.”

Geralt hums, and  _ fuck  _ if that doesn’t feel good against their throat. “I don’t mind,” he rumbles, nipping at Jaskier’s pulse and making them shiver. “Do you?”

Jaskier pulls his face back up. His eyes are half-lidded and dark, but the fondness in them is clear as day. “Not at all,” they say, smiling as they lean in to kiss him. “Not at all.”

The End.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Okay, fine,  _ not  _ the end. The banquet goes smoothly, even though Jaskier is giddy enough to hurl- they can’t help it! They’re  _ lovers  _ now! Still, Geralt manages to reel them in- it helps that he’s always touching them, soothing their frantic need for touch. 

They find an opening at one point to duck out of the party. “You have your dagger?” Geralt whispers, feeling them up behind a stone arch in the garden, and ohoho there’s  _ so  _ many jokes they can make there. Then Geralt’s hand cups the back of their neck, and they’re suddenly overwhelmed with the need to kiss him.

“Yes,” they say before mashing their mouths together. Geralt huffs but kisses them back- he smiles though, laughing at them.

“Stop laughing, you arse,” they mutter into Geralt’s lips, and Geralt’s shoulders shake. “No, seriously, it’s hard to kiss you like this.”

“Can’t help it,” Geralt says, though he stops laughing. “You’re so eager.”

“Oh, like you’re not.”

Geralt hums but finally,  _ finally  _ starts kissing them properly. 

Which is of course when the bruxa jumps out.

There’s a screech, and suddenly Jaskier is shoved away. They fall to the ground and immediately turn around, eyes straining to see in the dark night. 

There’s the sound of a sword being pulled out of its scabbard- must be Geralt, please be Geralt- a flash of metal, and then one last ear-piercing screech that gets cut off as Geralt most likely cuts their head off. Something lands with a wet thunk some feet ahead of them- must be the head- but Jaskier stops focusing on that as Geralt walks back into view.

“Are you alright?” they say, jumping to their feet. “Fuck, there’s blood on your face-”

“Not mine,” Geralt rumbles, though he allows Jaskier to wipe it away. “I’m not injured- you?”

“Fit as a fiddle, my dear witcher,” they declare. “Though, perhaps my lips ache a bit- would you kiss them better?”

Geralt snorts, and then laughs. “Seriously?” he says, chuckling. “Is that the famous charm I keep hearing about?”

Jaskier scowls. “Well,” they say, pretending to be huffy- yes, they know the line is bad, they’ve found that Geralt’s a sucker for shitty pick-up lines- “if you don’t  _ want  _ to-”

“I didn’t say that.” Geralt steps into their space and tilts their chin up. This close, they can see how Geralt’s eyes flood with adoration- it’s too much and not enough, and Jaskier knows without fail they’ll always feel this way when it comes to this man. “You’re right, should probably kiss you better. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” Jaskier agrees. Then Geralt’s lips find theirs, and the world washes away once more.

  
  



End file.
